Forever Young: Blessing or Curse (Always Young Trilogy) (4 page)

Though
the prospect of again proving her worth to strangers was not appealing, it
couldn’t be avoided. Unemployment compensation could never keep her afloat, not
with the house payments and her other responsibilities.

As
the staff members approached, Dorrie smiled noncommittally at them, and tried
to act as if nothing were amiss, though her heart ached at what they’d learn.

“Mrs.
Donato, do you know how long this will be? My students are alone in the
classroom,” Mr. Landscomb said, coming up to her desk.

She’d
known this moment would arrive. Afraid she’d break down, Dorrie shook her head.
He gave her a sharp look and hastened into Candace’s office. This was not
right. Someone as dedicated as Mr. Landscomb should at least be allowed to
transfer to Greenberry instead of being dismissed. How could the district be so
cruel?

He
re-emerged, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast, not saying a word as he
trudged back to his classroom.

Finally,
the school bell rang at three-thirty. Dorrie had never been so happy to leave
the place she’d always loved.

At
home, she dragged herself into the family room. In slow motion, she sank onto
the cream and olive recliner. This new blow was too much. Everywhere she
turned, bad news seemed to follow. How many times could she pick up the pieces?
How much more could she handle? 

“Lord,
give me strength,” she said, quoting one of Mom’s sayings.

As
if in answer to her prayer, another of Mom’s pet phrases flashed through her
mind. “The Lord helps those who help themselves.”

“Thanks,
Mom, I needed that.”

Shamed
into action, Dorrie climbed out of the chair and into the kitchen. The expanse
of cherry stained cabinets, granite countertops, mosaic tiles, and stainless
steel appliances which had given her so much pleasure when she’d first arrived
at her home, now made her uneasy. Could she afford to keep all this?

She
crossed over to the corner and flipped the switch on her laptop computer. A
quick glance at the checkbook balance and further calculations of her future
bills reminded her she didn’t have time to loaf. She reached for the newspaper
on the table. A perusal of the want ads revealed a few possibilities. She’d
check the websites of the companies, and while online, see what else turned up.

Determined
to think positive, she examined the leads. She had skills. Her qualifications
and referral from Candace should stand her in good stead.   

The
search began. For the next few weeks, Dorrie went on interviews during her
lunch break and after work, took typing tests, answered questions, and did
everything she could think of to get hired.

“You
were less than a year at your last job,” some employers said. After she
explained why and showed a copy of the school district’s letter, she still had
to explain the reason she’d been out of the work force so long before then. Was
she paranoid, or did they think she’d cooked up the story about her mother? Sad
to say, she couldn’t prove they were wrong, even if she produced Mom’s death
certificate.

Others
found her job skills lacking. “If you only knew spreadsheets, databases or
other programs, we’d hire you.”  

She
could take courses to beef up her qualifications, but that would mean using up
such precious commodities as time and money.

Friday,
February 10 came all too soon. After a glum last day at Foster, Dorrie joined
Candace and the other faculty members for dinner at the family restaurant not
far away. They all smiled bravely, though from time to time they openly or
surreptitiously blinked back tears.

At
home afterward, Dorrie’s stomach churned, as she thought of the fear and
sadness lurking in the eyes of her dinner companions. No doubt they’d seen the
same qualities reflected in hers as well.

She
had to find a job, but how? She’d followed up on every likely ad, yet the
results were discouraging. Sighing, she stepped into the kitchen to check
again, in case something new had turned up.

She
stared at the screen, knowing what it said, yet not liking it. Life had turned
out so wrong. The only man she’d loved had died, as had her mother. She missed
them both dreadfully. She also missed her friend who lived miles away. Now to
top off her misery, soon she’d have no income to pay her pile of bills. Would
she soon be homeless? She didn’t enjoy wallowing in self-pity, but how much
more could she take?

The
phone rang. Dorrie glanced away from scouring the ads. She didn’t recognize the
number on Caller ID. Maybe it was a telemarketer, but she couldn’t take that
chance. It might be someone important. As she lifted the receiver, she decided
it was time to get rid of the landline and save money.

“How’re
you doing, Mrs. Donato?”

Guilt
filled her as she recognized Mr. Remington’s distinctive voice. Though queasy
at the prospect of working at the Institute, she should have checked with him
for an opening.

“Oh,
hi, Mr. Remington. Thanks for calling. How am I? Well, I’d say, life could be
better. I just lost my job at the high school because of redistricting, so I’m
back where I started when I moved out here from Tomahawk. Since getting my
notice a few weeks ago, I’ve been job hunting everywhere, but no luck.”

“Well,
maybe that will change.”

“I
hope so. Things are not looking up right now.”

“Listen,
I’ve already filled the position I mentioned before, but I do happen to have
another, much more intriguing, if you’re up to a challenge.”

A
spark of hope kindled inside of Dorrie. Would he rescue her from her
predicament?

“Tell
me more. I’m willing to give almost anything a try.”

“Mrs.
Donato, why don’t you stop by my office on Monday, say, ten in the morning, and
we’ll go over what I have in mind.”

After
agreeing and hanging up, Dorrie wondered if she’d done the right thing. Could
she handle going back to the scene of Larry’s accident?  What would it
feel like to gaze at the spot where her husband had breathed his last? She
shuddered, imagining what the impact could do to her fragile state of mind.

“You’re
a big girl. You’ll get through this,” she said, tilting her chin.

Still,
it wouldn’t hurt to get a little moral support. Dorrie punched in Jeanne’s
number. She’d already filled her friend in about the school’s closing right
after hearing about it.

“How’s
the job hunt coming along, Dorrie?”

“I
don’t have one yet, but I do have a possibility. I’ll tell you about it, but
first, how’s your Dad doing?”

“Could
be better, to put it mildly. I’d give anything to turn back the clock to before
he fell on the black ice in the driveway, setting off this whole miserable
chain of events. The poor man can’t do anything he loves, like fishing, hunting
or even something so ordinary as walking around the block. Even with medicine,
he’s in such pain that half the time he doesn’t feel like eating. He’s wasting
away, no matter how I keep after him to get something down.”

“Can’t
anything be done?”

“I’m
afraid not. Every specialist I’ve consulted, and there are tons of them, all
say his back was broken so severely an operation could paralyze him. Given the
situation, we dare not take the chance. He’s bad enough as it is.”

“I
feel so sorry for Mike. He’s such a great guy. He used to be so cheerful, too,
with such a great laugh.”

“Well,
not any more. I can’t remember the last time he even smiled. I’m constantly
monitoring him in case, God forbid, he breaks down in a moment of weakness and
does something drastic. It’s heartbreaking to see him like this.”

“I
know exactly how you feel. I had a hard time dealing with Mom’s osteoporosis,
especially near the end when she was so helpless. It’s difficult to stand by
and know there’s only so much you can do.”

Jeanne
sighed. “I guess we’re at that age, you know, the time for reciprocating for
all we’ve received, but it’s not like a day at the ballpark, that’s for sure.
Well, enough about me. Now, spill. What’s happened on your end? You mentioned a
possible lead.”

“I
do have something to report, but I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. Larry’s
boss, the Angel Man himself, says he might have a job for me at the Institute. He’s
invited me to his office tomorrow to talk it over. It’ll be nerve racking
facing that place. I hope I’m up to it.”

“I
appreciate what you’re going through, but maybe if you get it over with, you’ll
feel better afterward.”

“You
may be right. Anyway, I did agree to go, so I won’t back out now.”

“I
wonder. If you didn’t call him, how did he know you needed a job?”

“Not
too hard to figure out. He knew I worked at Foster High, and the school board
cuts have been all over the news.”

“It’s
nice he thought of you, but be careful. A man with his popularity is used to
getting his way in more ways than one. Don’t let him think he can hit on you,
because you’re lonely and a widow.”

Dorrie
gave a short laugh. “Whatever made you think of that, Jeanne? Need I remind
you, I’m at least twenty years older than the man and not exactly the most
gorgeous woman who’s walked the face of the earth?”

“Don’t
sell yourself short, Dorrie. There’s nothing wrong with your looks, and lots of
men go for older women.”

“Oh,
please, you’ve got to be kidding. There’s no reason for someone in his league
to be attracted to me. Besides, if such an unlikely event were to occur, I’d
have no trouble refusing him. Sex is the last thing on my mind. I miss Larry
too much.”

“Forgive
me, little sister, for my warped sense of humor. Sometimes I don’t think before
I speak.”

For
as long she could remember, though they weren’t related, Jeanne had been dubbed
big sister, and Dorrie the little one. It was their way of acknowledging their
significance to each other.

“Thanks,
Jeanne, I know you mean well. It’s good to know someone out there cares,”
Dorrie said, swallowing a lump in her throat.

“Always
have and always will.”

“Ditto.”

 “On
that note, I hear Dad calling me, so I better see what’s going on. Let me know
how the interview goes. I’ll cross my fingers and toes and say lots of prayers
that something good comes of it.”

Thank
God for Jeanne. Without her, Dorrie didn’t know what she’d do.

***

On
Monday, Dorrie steeled herself to make the drive to the Institute. Her heart
almost burst as she maneuvered down the mountain road. When she made the turns
near the steep drop off, she couldn’t stop  her hands from shaking on the
wheel.

Unlike
the last time, after the trek down the mountain, this time a uniformed guard
stood at attention outside his station and checked her ID. Was it the same
person who’d suffered the intestinal emergency the night of Larry’s death? She
didn’t have the fortitude to ask. As she drove onto the straight stretch, she
glanced ahead at the parking lot. Vehicles crowded the area, yet Dorrie could
still see the emptiness of that horrible evening and the still form sprawled
across the asphalt.

She
pulled into a parking spot not far from the scene of the accident, and forced
her trembling legs to propel her out of the car. Tears clouded her vision as
she stopped to stare where she’d last seen Larry. Coincidence or not, that was
the only space empty.

“Lord,
please help me cope. I miss him so.” Her prayers drifted on the morning air of
a sky blue day. The birds chirped. A gentle breeze rifled her hair. Everything
continued, as if Larry had never been part of it.

She
swiped at her eyes, hoping her mascara wasn’t running. She did want to look
professional for the interview.

A
second glance at the fatal spot set off a wave of guilt. Was she doing the
right thing?   Didn’t Larry deserve more respect? What was the matter
with her?

 “Larry,
I’ll always love you. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I must go in there
and apply for a job. I hope you understand,” she whispered.

Her
husband had adored his position at the Institute. In a way, being here might
make her feel closer to him. Besides, at this point, she’d have to take what
she could get.

Determined
not to give in to self-pity, Dorrie straightened her shoulders and headed for
the front entrance. Once she reached the glass door, she pressed the button,
gave her name and was buzzed in. A high heeled, suit clad receptionist greeted
her. “We’ve been expecting you. Right this way, Mrs. Donato.”

Dorrie
caught a quick glimpse of the atrium’s vaulted ceilings, citrus trees and
greenery bathed in sunlight, before she was whisked into a modern, glass
enclosed elevator, which transported her to the third floor, and down a hallway
lined with geometrically patterned black and white pictures. More patterned
pictures lined the walls of the waiting room, some with varying concentric
purple circles in dizzying patterns.

“Have
a seat, please,” the receptionist said, gesturing to a chrome and black chair.